Agatha went to the piano and played one of Mendelssohn's "Songs Without Words." The difference between the pure, sweet, high-bred English girl and the brilliant, seductive French woman never appeared to me so great as when they were at the piano.

Coralie's music wrapped one's soul, steeped one's senses, brought one nearer to earth; Agatha took one almost straight to heaven.

Listening to her, pure and holy thoughts came, high and noble impulses.
Then, seeing that Lady Thesiger looked tired, I suggested that she should rest upon the sofa while I took Miss Thesiger for a little stroll through the gardens.

The evening was beautiful, warm and clear, the golden sun lingering as though loath to leave the fair world to darkness.
At last, at last! My hands trembled with impatience as I drew the black lace mantilla over her white shoulders.

At last, at last I had her all to myself, only the birds and flowers around us, only the blue sky overhead.
Then, when I would have given worlds for the power of speech, a strange, dull silence came over me.
"Agatha," I said at last, "I came over today on purpose to see you.